


The Adventures of Delightfully Morbid Jehan

by steelplatedhearts



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure, Jehan's adorable. He wears bright floral prints and bakes people food and is constantly carrying around flowers. </p>
<p>But he has an appreciation for the darker side of life, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventures of Delightfully Morbid Jehan

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where the idea of Delightfully Morbid Jehan came from, but as soon as it materialized I just had to write it up.
> 
> (this is all part of the Sisterbuddies Verse.)

At first glance, Jehan Prouvaire seems soft and adorable, rather like a distinctly non-threatening kitten.

For one, he dresses like he rolled around in a Hallmark store near Easter, and he’s constantly got flowers and ribbons braided into his incredibly long hair. He sends bouquets to people that he thinks need to be cheered up, and has more than once showed up at school with a large tray of cupcakes, “just because.”

But underneath this pastel-coated exterior lies what Feuilly once described as “a Tim Burton movie gone horribly right.”

*   *   *   *   *  

“Why are we doing this?”

“Because it’s Halloween, Enjolras, and we have to do _something_ to commemorate the occasion,” Jehan says.

“I still think we could have pulled off trick-or-treating,” Cosette pouts.

“You’re only about two inches shorter than Bahorel, and people stopped believing he was young enough to trick-or-treat in the fifth grade,” Combeferre says.

“But _free candy_ ,” Cosette whines, languishing. “I don’t understand why anyone would ever say no to that.”

“I will buy you some Halloween candy if you want, just quit complaining,” Jehan says, lighting the candles. “Now come on, we have to decide who we’re going to contact.”

“Elvis!” Courfeyrac shouts. “Let’s talk to the King!”

“Elvis isn’t dead,” Feuilly says. “He got abducted by aliens.”

“Nah, he’s living with Bigfoot,” Bahorel says, snickering.

Jehan throws a candle at him. “If you’re not going to take this _seriously_ —”

“Fine, fine,” Bahorel says. “I’ll be good.”

“We really should try to talk to Elvis, though,” Courfeyrac says. “I mean, in terms of famous dead people—”

“My vote’s for Billy Mays,” Combeferre says. “At least you _know_ we’ll be able to hear him.”

“I vote for Elvis,” Grantaire says. “Didn’t he die taking a shit?”

“You are so _gross_ ,” Eponine says, sticking her tongue out.

“You know what?” Jehan says abruptly, rising and blowing out the candles. “I am going to go contact the dead by myself and none of you assholes get to come.”

“I’d rather go egg someone’s house, anyway,” Bahorel says.

*   *   *   *   *  

“How’d the egging go?” Jehan asks the next day.

“Not great,” Bahorel says with a grimace. “The only people who would go with me were Cosette and Feuilly, and we almost got caught by the cops. How’d the conversations with dead people go?”

“Lovely, thank you,” Jehan says. “Elizabeth the First promised me that she’d haunt the fuck out of you if I need it.”

Bahorel thinks he’s probably joking, but there’s no sense in taking chances.

*   *   *   *   *  

Cosette turns seventeen on a cold, rainy day in December. It’s Christmas break, and the boys are scattered—Enjolras’s mom took him and his sisters to Hawaii, Combeferre went up north to visit family, and Bossuet’s family went to Disneyland, for starters—so she decides to wait until everyone’s back before she has a proper party.

That hasn’t prevented the boys still in town from marking the day, however. Bahorel treated her, Eponine, and Gavroche to a movie, and Feuilly gave her a coupon for one free computer fixing.

She and Eponine are frosting her birthday cake when Jehan materializes, banging on the front door.

“Hey,” Eponine says, letting him in. “Do you want a towel or something?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Jehan says, wringing water out of his hair. “I just stopped by to give Cosette her birthday present.”

It turns out to be a bouquet of brightly colored chrysanthemums with a card attached. Cosette grabs the card and opens it up.

“Happy birthday,” Cosette reads. “You’re one year closer to the grave.” She closes the card and looks up with a smile. “Thanks, Jehan.”

“No problem,” he says, hugging her. “See you later!”

*   *   *   *   *  

Marius is staring despondently at the bright red marks decorating his test. “I don’t understand it,” he says, glum. “I got a 94 on the last test.”

“It was hard for everyone,” Eponine says, patting him absentmindedly on the head as she stares at her own paper. “I think Combeferre actually got a B.”

“This is the saddest I’ve ever been,” Marius groans, slumping over the table.

“That’s probably a good thing,” Jehan says. “You can die if you’re too happy.”

“What?” Eponine asks, crinkling her nose.

“In 1989, a Danish audiologist was watching _A Fish Called Wanda_ and died laughing,” Jehan says serenely, eating a spoonful of pudding. “It probably wouldn’t even take that much laughter to finish _you_ off. No, a life of failure and misery is far better for your health, I’m sure.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marius says dryly.

*   *   *   *   *  

It’s 2:45 am when the rock hits their window.

Eponine jolts awake instantly, startled, while Cosette takes her time to wake up, walk to the window, and lean out.

“Morning, Jehan!” she calls out cheerfully. “If you wanted our attention, you could have just texted.”

“I prefer the old-fashioned approach,” he smirks, tossing another pebble up and down in his hand. “Want to come sit in a graveyard with me and contemplate death? _Memento Mori,_ and all that?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Eponine grumbles. “Wake me up when something sensible is happening.”

“Eponine’s out,” Cosette says, turning back to Jehan, “but I could be persuaded, I’m sure. Although isn’t this the kind of thing you get Bahorel for?”

“He’s going over to his gran’s house tomorrow morning,” Jehan answers. “He comes out now, he’ll oversleep, and then he’ll be late for Nana Rose. You are _not_ late for Nana Rose.”

“I like her already,” Cosette says.

“Come on down,” Jehan says. “I have donuts.”

“Well, I’m in!” Cosette chirps. “Just let me find some real pants.”

*   *   *   *   *  

“No donut is worth this,” Cosette grunts.

“Just get on your tiptoes!” Jehan says, stretching to reach the top of the fence. “I’m almost there—”

“Your foot is messing up my lipstick,” she growls.

“While I appreciate the dramatics of wearing red lipstick to a cemetery at three in the morning, perhaps it wasn’t the greatest idea.”

Cosette puts all her strength into one final boost and shoves Jehan to the top of the fence. He scrambles over, and quick as a flash is standing on the other side of the fence, grinning at Cosette. She slides the box of donuts between the bars, throws Jehan’s duffle bag over, and clambers over herself.

“For my part,” Jehan says, head tipped back facing towards the moon,  “I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”

“Nerd,” Cosette says, bumping him with her hip.

She grabs the duffle bag and follows him between the tombstones until he draws to a halt at one particular grave. He stares at it for a few minutes before lying down over it, crossing his arms over his chest, and closing his eyes.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Cosette asks, looking around nervously. “Isn’t that—I don’t know, disrespectful to the dead or something?”

“It’s my great-aunt Alice’s grave,” Jehan says, eyes still closed. “I can sit on it, but you probably shouldn’t sit on anyone. They might not like it.”

“Fair enough,” Cosette says, sitting down between two graves.

“Have you ever given thought to what you want to happen to you when you die?” Jehan asks, opening his eyes. “Your body, I mean.”

“Not really,” Cosette shrugs. “I heard once that you can put your ashes into fireworks—I thought that would be cool.”

“Yeah, you _would_ ,” Jehan says. “I want my ashes to be pressed into a gemstone and set in a necklace to be passed down among my descendants. I already have the necklace designed.”

“Of course you do,” Cosette mutters. “So, what’s on the morbid agenda?”

“It feels like a Poe night,” Jehan muses. “Hand me the bag, will you?”

She does, and he rummages through it until he finds a battered volume. “Here we go. _Masque of the Red Death_.”

He sits up and leans against the tombstone as Cosette lies down, nibbling on a donut. “The ‘Red Death’ had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.”

“That’s cheerful.”

“Shush. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.”

“Jehan, this is super gross.”

“No, Cosette, this is _art_.”

“It’s super gross art.”

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I do!”

“Fine. Then shush.”

Cosette, for the most part, is a good listener, even if she interrupts on occasion. She gasps in all the right places, holds her breath through tense moments, and lets the air out in a _whoosh_ at the end.

“Good story,” she says, stretching her legs out. “Is that the kind of stuff you read all the time?”

“Pretty much,” Jehan says. “I like it.”

“Okay, so I have a question,” she says as she rolls over. “If you like creepy stories, and you like ghosts and hanging around in graveyards, why do you dress like an Easter egg?”

“Just because I like scary things doesn’t mean I can’t like pretty things too,” Jehan says, shrugging. “Besides, it confuses people.”

Cosette laughs. “Those are excellent reasons.”

When the sun starts to rise, they go to a nearby Denny’s, and Jehan gives a dramatic eulogy for the pig that died so Cosette could eat an entire plate of bacon.

The manager is not pleased. 


End file.
